DISCLAIMER: You know how it's the little things that can make you happy sometimes? Like being carded at a certain huge discount store (which shall remain nameless) when I tried to buy an R-rated DVD, even though age 17 was a long time ago. Or finding "The Fifth Element"on TV and watching it for the umpteenth time and still not being able to figure out why Gary Oldman's character has a Southern accent. Or getting a copy of the premiere issue of The New Avengers from the nice man behind the counter at the comic book store, even though the wall display said it was sold out. Good times.

Yeah, yeah, the characters from "Shaun of the Dead" don't belong to me. Can you spot the reference to my fellow writer JessicaDwyer's story, "Shaun of the Dead 2: Deadhead Boogaloo?" If you do, valuable prizes might be in store for you. Or they might not.

Lex continued to frantically flip through Ryland's journal, having to translate Spanish, Latin and Romanian passages concurrently. She was nearing sensory overload when she began to notice a pattern. She looked over to Michael who'd fallen asleep in the chair beside her hospital bed. "Michael? Michael, wake up! I think I've got it."

"Got what?" he groaned wearily.

"The missing link. It all comes back to Catherine of Aragon. Spanish ironworkers forged the seal and entrusted it to her. We just have to figure out exactly where she went after she was divorced from Henry VIII. That's where we'll find La Trayectoria Luz."

"Well done, Lex. Now you go back to reading and wake me when Grayson and Sara get back." He laid his head back against the chair and resumed his slumber.

Hours of searching half the churches in London and she'd had no luck. They were no closer to finding the seal and no closer to figuring out a way to stop Davrok. Not that Sara's mind was really focused on that; she was too busy replaying her earlier confrontation with Shaun over and over in her head and wondering where the sudden change in his behavior had come from. And wondering whether she could have handled things a bit better.

She wearily climbed the steps to her flat, opened the door and stepped into her dark and quiet den/kitchen/living room as the last few rays of sunlight filtered through the window. In a few hours, she'd be expected back at Lex's hospital room to give a progress report. But what was the point if there was no progress? She tossed her keys and backpack onto the table and grabbed a Pepsi from the refrigerator, collapsing into the nearest chair.

As she tried to contemplate her next move, there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" she called.

Her downstairs neighbor Jessica opened the door and peeked inside. "Hey! I heard you come in. Is this a good time?"

"I'm beginning to doubt there is such a thing, but come in anyway. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"No, no. Just thought I'd stop by to see how the new look went over last night," she inquired, taking a seat at the table, blue eyes wide with excitement.

"Looking like Death? It was a big hit with the boys."

Jess adopted a hurt expression. "Well, I didn't think you looked that bad."

"No, I mean like the character Death. Neil Gaiman portrays her as a goth chick in his Sandman series."

"Ohh-kay. So how was the party?"

"Oh, it had everything. Sex, drugs, violence, and gratuitous use of glow sticks."

"Sounds like fun. So you'll invite me to the next party then?"

"Absolutely," she said. She placed her head in her hands and leaned forward onto the table. "Oh, how can men be such bastards, Jess?"

"They get a lot of practice," Jess replied. "Something go wrong with Shaun?"

"I don't know. All this time, I was fairly certain that he wasn't a bastard, but then suddenly this morning when I went to see him, he'd changed. He treated me like a total stranger," she said sadly. "I mean, every relationship has its ups and downs. That's a given. But Shaun was never like that. He was predictable, he was reliable, he was a port in the crazy storm that is my life. And now he's chucked me and I'm suddenly…portless. I don't want to be portless." She laid her head down on the cold surface of the table.

"Now, now, pickle," Jessica consoled. "I'm sure Shaun isn't leaving you…portless. There must be a reason."

"I guess it could have something to do with my ex-boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes. The bloody wanker saunters in last night with his spiky hair and his leather jacket all, 'Ooh, look at me, aren't I still annoyingly handsome and heroic?' They should have some kind of policy against letting such smug bastards into the country."

"If that were the case, where would I find my next boyfriend?" Jessica wondered. Sara glared at her. "Sorry, sorry, this is about you."

"Right. So not only do I have to deal with Mr. Tall, Dark and Haughty, but then Shaun goes and pulls an Angelus, and I don't even get the benefit of sleeping with him first."

"Angelus?"

"Buffy reference," Sara explained. "It's when Mr. Right suddenly turns into Mr. Hideously Wrong overnight."

"Oh, yeah. Been there."

"I don't know, Jess," she sighed. "Sometimes I wish I'd never met him. I mean, why would Fate cruelly taunt me with the possibility of happiness and then yank it away, laughing maniacally? I must have been a really bad person in a past life. I must have been like Lucrezia Borgia or something. And to top it off, now I have to face this imminent apocalypse all by myself," she groaned.

"Apocalypse?" Jess repeated, trying to make sense of her neighbor's jumbled rantings.

"Um, nothing," Sara said quickly. "Nevermind."

Jessica slowly nodded and placed her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers. "Listen," she began, not at all looking forward to saying what she was about to say. "I know you don't exactly need anymore bad news right now, but Marcia says that if you don't have your rent check in her letterbox by tomorrow morning, she'll be forced to evict you."

Sara shook her head. She was stumbling blindly from one crisis to another. How had her life spun so quickly out of control? "Well, just…" she started, "just tell her to do what she has to do."

"Ohh-kay. You know, you look like hell. Maybe you should get some sleep."

"Ah, if only. What about you? What are you up to tonight?"

"Slick's out with Edgar, so I've got the place to myself. I'm thinking Bruce Campbell film festival and buckets of popcorn with tons of artery-clogging butter."

Sara sighed wistfully. "Why aren't there more men like Bruce out there?"

"That is one of life's great mysteries," Jessica mused. "If you feel like watching zombie carnage, you're welcome to join me.

"Thanks, but I've still got work to do."

"Okay. Good night, see you later!"

"Bye, Jess!" she said as Jessica closed the door behind her.

Sara got up from the table and walked over to the blinking answering machine. She pushed the play button and was treated to the irritated voice of her boss at the record store. "It's been three days without a word from you. I don't know how you people do things in America, but in this country, that is irresponsible and shows that you lack the kind of strong ethic needed to work at Vinyl Island. So consider yourself sacked, Sara. You can pick up your last paycheck next week, if you're not passed out on the side of the road somewhere." BEEEP.

Well, that was just great, she thought. The end of the world was actually starting to look like an attractive prospect.

She walked over to her bookcase and stared at her shelf full of history books. The answer had to be there somewhere. They knew the seal was somewhere in England, because the Council had been monitoring Ryland's financial transactions and so far he'd made no travel arrangements. Maybe he was waiting till the last minute to minimize the risk of anyone following him. She looked at her watch. "Well, he still has time to make the midnight train across the Channel," she said to herself.

Then the answer smacked her in the face. If Ryland and Davrok were going to do any traveling, it would be by night. And it would be tonight in order to prepare for the following night's Lunar Eclipse. But no one was keeping watch on Ryland's flat. She didn't exactly want to go back there after Will's death, but it was the easiest way to track him. She grabbed some snacks and a few more soda cans for her impromptu stake-out, stuffed them into her backpack and headed back out the door.

Hours of working at the shop and he'd had no luck. Shaun had managed to sell a toasted sandwich maker and a few alarm clocks, but nothing major. Nothing that would bring the sizable commissions he so desperately wanted. He wearily walked up to the bar of the pub, ordered his pint, and settled into a booth in the back corner.

He tried not to think about it, but he couldn't forget how upset Sara had been this morning. What was the proper way to apologize for backing out of a mission to save the world? Flowers, chocolates, the full collection of Farscape on DVD?

As he tried to contemplate his next move, he became aware of someone standing beside him.

"Is this seat taken?" an American voice asked.

Shaun looked up to see the annoyingly handsome slayer that had breezed into town the night before. "Bloody hell, what are you doing here?" he asked wearily.

"Well, I heard this was a good place to get a drink. And right now I could use one." Grayson placed his pint on the table and took the chair across from Shaun.

"Long day?"

"Yeah, and it's not over yet. Still have to go meet up with the Council to discuss the gameplan."

"How very exciting for you."

Grayson leaned back in his chair and adopted an air of charm and sweetness. "You know, Shaun, I don't get where all this contempt is coming from. We're on the same team."

"Actually, we're not," he corrected. "Michael relieved me of my responsibilities last night."

"Oh, right. So it's back to the exciting mission of selling appliances, huh?"

"Hey, I provide a valuable service to this community," Shaun declared with pride. "What have you contributed to society lately, besides your spiky hair and your square jaw and your ability to smolder in a brown leather coat?"

"Well, there is that whole thing about protecting the innocent by killing demons."

"Oh, throw that in my face."

"Look, if this is some kind of jealousy thing—"

Shaun laughed and shook his head insistently. "I am not jealous of you."

"You view me as a threat because I have a history with Sara."

"I do not view you as a threat," he asserted. "Okay, maybe I was in the fragile early stages of what could have possibly been a closer relationship with Sara, and maybe your showing up looking all heroic could have had the potential to exacerbate things, but that doesn't matter now. I'm out of the Council, I'm out of this war against vampires, and I'm out of Sara's life. And don't flatter yourself that it's because of you."

"Strong words," Grayson observed. "Do you actually believe any of that?"

"No," Shaun muttered. "But I do believe that Sara is better off without me."

"I don't think she'd agree with you on that. Have you told her about this decision?"

"I was trying to avoid a confrontation. Because frankly, I like my face and I'd rather not have it ripped off."

"I still think you owe her an explanation, Shaun. Sara may have some enhanced abilities, but she's still just a girl with the same feelings and insecurities as everyone else. Coupled with the fact that she has a double dose of Irish and Southern stubbornness. If you don't talk to her and explain the situation, she will haunt you. Possibly literally."

"Look, I'm trying to be noble and unselfish and do what's best for her," he insisted. "And what do I get for it? A brutal tongue-lashing from Sara this morning and now a lecture from you. I'm beginning to wish…I just…sometimes I wish I'd never met her."

"Yeah," Grayson nodded, sipping his pint. "But then you would have missed out on her kindness, her laugh, that warm feeling you get when she smiles at you, the way she listens to you and makes you believe that you're the most important person in the world to her."

Shaun glared at him darkly from across the table. "You want her back, don't you?"

Grayson stifled a laugh. "That ship has sailed, Shaun."

"More like you capsized it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You work it out."

It took a moment but Grayson did work it out. "So she told you the story, huh?" he asked with a pained expression. "Look, I just want whatever Sara wants. And if for some unknown reason that happens to be you…well, I'll learn to live with it." Suddenly, the pager on his waist started beeping. He unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the number. "Duty calls. Later, Shaun."

Grayson started to walk away but turned back quickly. "Oh, and thanks for the drink." With a wink, he left, and Shaun was faced with an expectant bartender staring him down and awaiting payment. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly and laid his head down on the hard wooden surface of the table.